


Broken Glass

by MrsNilduenilun



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: 19th Century, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Demon Love, Demons, Flowers, Glass Coffin, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Season/Series 01, SebaCiel - Freeform, Shinigami, Soul Selling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25590289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNilduenilun/pseuds/MrsNilduenilun
Summary: After the end of the contract, Sebastian realized what he had lost. By nagging feeling of lack of something, he can not part with his young master emotionally, but also physically. He wants to go back to what he has torn out with his own hands at all costs.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 5
Kudos: 73





	1. Black Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Broken Glass || Kuroshitsuji](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/658234) by LadyPhantomhive0707 (me). 



> Hello! I hope you enjoy this story. It's a translation of my fanfiction "Broken Glass" on Wattpad. I wrote the original of this work in Polish long time ago. I was once asked to translate it so I tell myself - why not? I wonder what the foreign audience thinks about it. English is not my native language, so I would happily accept any suggestions for translations.

A year was enough for me to completely forget what the calendar was for. Time was actually running next to me from the moment when I finished my contract and went back to where I came from. The fantastic meal that my contractor provided me was indescribable. A wonderful blend of childhood innocence and cool revenge, infused with the smell of fresh blood of enemies. The whole thing was spiced up with life failures, thanks to which the blue-eyed's soul reached the rank of a demonic rarity.

Even though I should have radiated happiness from a well-completed contract, I wasn't able to enjoy. At all.

When the little Earl Phantomhive closed his eyes, I realized that something had ended. It was my finish line in pursuit of reward. Interestingly, many times I ended human lives and simply moved on to make more pacts, but with him it was completely different. For a long time I stood over the lifeless body of a slightly pale, fragile boy, fully aware, and even certain, that this sight would stay with me until the end of this strange world. I didn't know why I chose this particular moment to stop and reflect on myself. I was not brave enough to go back to his mansion and get some of my things from there. I was accompanied by a nagging feeling that I would not have been able to deliver the news of his death. I turned out to be weak and disappeared like a coward. I was surprised that, as a demon, I was not capable of something so banal.

After all, I was no longer a butler.

I had become attached to my dead master in such an odd way, that perhaps even me did not believe it. The words related to death did not pass through my throat. I forgot what I had imagined before the contract. It was probably something like getting rid of this recalcitrant brat quickly, taking his soul and leaving him, but in the meantime I had forgotten even the whole appearance of Hell. London was my entire world for several years, but more specifically - the master's family residence. I had there own place, occupation and companions. Even the fur one, that I was so fond of, but while crossing the huge metal gate, leading to my real home, it dawned on me that I had taken all these things with my own hands.

I was alone. All alone.

While still in my butler's uniform, I opened the huge wooden door and stepped inside, closing it behind me, making it creak unbearably. I haven't seen this place for a long time. I was so used to my master that sometimes I found myself calling the earl for dinner and I was amazed that no one came to the dining room. It took me twelve months to adjust to the ''new'' surroundings and situations. I was still thinking too much about the past and couldn't do anything else. When it came to me that this blunt countdown did not give me anything, I stopped to tear off the pages from provisional calendar. After abandoning this activity, I no longer knew exactly which anniversary of the little lord's death was behind me. If any at all, except the first one. My days were incredibly long. Eternal night reigned not only outside the windows of the infernal bridgehead, but also in my fake heart.

Time didn't bother me only when I walked into my special room.

Thanks to my efforts, he still looked immaculately beautiful and young from behind the glass. He had the same milky skin, half-closed, dreamy eyes and impeccable clothes in dark colors. The most remarkable thing in his appearance was a small, artificial, white rose that adorned the black coat. He was like my private Snow White, the heroine of the book I used to read to him at the beginning of the contract at the bed time. Human nature penetrated my life so much that I did not even want to part with my form of a humble, hellishly good servant. I held it up so long and I called it 'mine'. The real demonic face was disgusting, repugnant, loathful and... Whatever. At least that was the way how I saw it all, and because of that, I did not want to show it. Even to myself, in the mirror's reflection.

I felt a huge disgust for myself.

For lack of work, I decided to revive the dead interior of the infernal castle. I ordered a general renovation myself, which even reached the garden. I added lots of white roses there. With demonic speed, I gave the bare bricks and dilapidated walls some of the colors that I had begged for, and also I filled the empty rooms with all sorts of trinkets left over from the sale of the Master's mansion by the Midfords. I only returned to this place when I felt it was a good time. The rest of the servants had to find another job, the house was uninhabited, and I was able to recover what I wanted in peace. There was no one inside. I avoided any glance. Apparently material things did not matter to me, but for unknown reasons, I felt an involuntary sentiment towards them. The clothes of the young gentleman have disappeared from the wardrobes, all the books have been removed from the shelves, and from the kitchen I took porcelain tableware imported from China. Through this actions, the new owner who would buy this house would undoubtedly feel a bit cheated, but I did not really care. I had a strange feeling that I would need all these things. To improve my mood and in case my master woke up.

However, when I entering my special room later, the naive hope flashed like a soap bubble. He was still there. In a glass coffin, so that I could come and look at him for hours on lonely, eternal nights. Surprisingly, overall, this room was my most frequented. I explained to myself that this was due to the lack of typically human needs. After all, I had nothing else to do. I wasn't interested in anything else. My eyesight was limited only to the unusual resting place. Through this one element of decor, I couldn't see the boring white, gleaming tiles, black curtains and a few candlesticks. Even the favorite flowers of the master, which I carefully selected, did not matter to me, because they had to be snow-white and symmetrically arranged in every corner of the room. My pointless chatter to myself contradicted everything logical, but there was some sense in it in my insane mind. And probably only in my mind.

I wasn't doing it all for myself, but for him.

Whenever I exchanged flowers that had already fade, I had the impression that he was smiling. Later, I approached him closer, wanting to open the glass coffin, and at the same time noticed that these were nonsense predictions. I spoke to him often also. Very often. I missed his voice terribly, because even when he was reprimanding me and just shouting at me, the sound was magical and fondly remembered. I have not experienced anything like this in a dead, silent hell. The only thing left for me was the feeling of emptiness, which was my companion of misery, because as far as I had not fraternized a lot with other demons before, I never left the house after the contract. I pretended that I was gone, and if I was already out, it was only to the garden. The one time I visited the sold mansion that I rebuilt, was a real nightmare. I felt there, as if someone had ordered my thoughts and demanded a return to hell. Over and over again. Inside me, I was accompanied by a feeling of obligation, in the form of remaining with the young master even after his death all the time.

And one day I went crazy.

The feeling of loneliness bothered me so much that my mental health deteriorated like a pathetic little man. I took a similar one out of the glass coffin. I hugged him to me and regretted taking his soul from him for the sake of a momentary pleasure and a feeling of satiation. He was a cold and pale boy, and at the same time the most beautiful human doll I could hold. I knew that hell was not a good place for him. He deserved a dignified burial in his native country, but I could not give his body back to London. I wanted him to stay with me until the end of the world, and probably out of this sick desire I started to create a typically human schedule for myself, in which he could accompany me.

I just wanted to be closer to him. So bad.


	2. Pink Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I'm giving you two chapters of my story (Chapter 1: Black Rose and Chapter 2: Pink Rose). If you like it, I translate it all because I still have a lot of flowers left. At the same time, I would like to add other translated stories, so keep an eye out for some English news from me. Those with the most interest will be updated faster. My English is not perfect, so I am still open to various advice, especially when it comes to dialogues, if something is wrong with it. In my country, they are written a bit differently and it's hard for me to get used to it. I'm really curious about your feelings and opinions. Take care!

I forced myself to sleep, cook, wash and vacuum, although I knew really well that I was doing it in vain. My cold doll was still missing the most important element. I did not enjoy dining together as much as those at the Phantomhive mansion. Even taking care of him, in the form of changing clothes and bathing, did not give me the satisfaction of fulfilling my duties. I had no one above me to scold me with an icy, sky-colored gaze that I could only dream of. I have classified my irrational desires as a mild form of masochism that has been grown on regret and longing.

Then something hit me.

I was wondering when did I start dreaming. Before, this activity was completely foreign to me. The only thing that mattered was automatic, completely thoughtless satisfaction of needs, without taking care of the spiritual sphere in any way. Through it all, I believed that I actually had it, because it always tormented me after closing my eyes. I dreamed of a small, proud boy in everyday situations during the contract period. A fragile man whom I did not give a chance to grow up. Staring at the ceiling, I imagined how he would look like if he could celebrate his eighteenth birthday, then twentieth, thirtieth, and so on. It fascinated me, although I knew well that I would never see it for myself. I turned on my side, experiencing the same evening view, not caring that actually sharing the bed could be considered tactless. 

He did not change in any way.

During one of these types of perpetual nights, I dared to check what happened to the contract. His eyes were as white as snow, and the Faustian mark hadn't been there for a long time. This sight made me sick. To the extent that I had to visit the bathroom. Immediately.  
"What if..." I began, staring at my perfect human reflection while splashing cold water in my face.  
When I regained my consciousness a bit, I began frantically looking for something that would help me fulfill a rather peculiar idea of reviving the master. When I found nothing useful between the soaps and towels, I dumped it all to the floor, making some noise and unintentionally smashing one of the perfume bottles. To my delight, I saw a small toothbrush between rolled up white pieces of cloth. I opened my mouth, looking at the sharp, demonic pearly-white fangs, and without thinking, I put the find down my throat. It didn't take long for my whole body to respond to my gesture. I grabbed the sink.  
"No, it won't help. I'm not human." I mumbled resignedly when it occurred to me that my desperate ideas were getting to nowhere and were embarrassingly naive. "I won't get it out this way."

After this incident, I just gave up and tried no more. I pretended to myself that it was okay. That was all that was left for me then. I returned to the human, somewhat boring routine with the silent master at my side, which comforted me even a little. Brushing his hair every day, putting him to bed, and reading him for bedtime was extremely relaxing. I had to immodestly admit that because of the schedule of the day I arranged, I improved myself in human dishes. Every now and then I was inventing new, more and more abstract meals for my Sleeping Beauty. The naivety of the crazy demon was so huge that I thought that the familiar smells of sweet cake would replace a kiss from a real prince.  
"I should finally look for a new contractor..." I said with disgust, looking down at the table set to the brim.  
I deceived myself that human food should be enough for me, but demonic desire didn't believe in my fairy tales. I needed another soul. But I knew that I would not find a more perfect one. It effectively took away my appetite and the desire to leave the house. I ignored all calls from desperadoes who wanted to sell their souls. Only when I really felt a hellish hunger, I forced myself to leave Hell. I set off to London, hoping that once again I will be able to serve someone in there. The familiar streets soothed my nerves and silenced the unbearable voices in my head that required me to return and deal with the young master. 

At one point I heard someone's scream. It sounded like I'd heard it before. A moment later, chaos reigned in the vicinity of Big Ben. Passers-by immediately fled to one place to observe the human tragedy. Someone fell under the carriage. I got a little closer to satisfy my curiosity, and my eyes saw thick, pale curls entangled in circles and pink fabric of the dress, trampled by horse hooves. Blood trickled down the street.  
"Miss, my dearest miss..." I heard behind me, and when I turned around, I saw a face that was not strange in the crowd. It belonged to Miss Elizabeth's maid. A young woman with brown, straight hair lamented next to the body of her employer, blaming herself for not looking after her. She was a bit battered, judging by stripped material on the elbows and torned dress in the color of freshly brewed coffee at the very bottom of it. She had to jump aside, while the young lord's cousin did not have that much time to react. I took a few steps back, wanting to blend in with the crowd again. I have never liked the deceased and she irritated me mercilessly during her visits, but the mere sight of her servant in tears made my skin shiver. Looking at everything from the side, I noticed what callousness surrounded me. Nobody dared to help. Without remorse, I also. I turned around, wanting to get away from the scene as quickly as possible, but I did not make too many steps. Mainly because I heard the characteristic saw sound behind me, which could only herald one thing. 

"Shinigami," I whispered under my breath, then watched the red-haired god of death go about his work, collecting the tangled cinematic records emerging from the young lady's corpse.


	3. Red Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for leaving Kudos under my story. I was a bit away for private reasons, but here I come with a new chapter! There is a slight smell of Grell x Sebastian, but it was absolutely not intentional. Someone told me that when he or she was reading the original. Enjoy and keep an eye out for more updates! ~ ★

At that moment hope came back to me. I did not like this ginger madman. Even more, I hated his sordid sight and felt an extreme aversion to him, but I could not deny that he brightened my head a little by just appearing on the horizon. I had the idea of asking him for help in connection with taking my soul out of me. Alone I was not able to do that. On the other hand — pride did not allow me to call him. I waited silently for him to see me in the crowd, and it did not actually take long. As Grell finished cutting the unruly cliches, he lifted his head, catching my presence almost instantly.

"Long time no see, Sebby-chan!" he squealed dissatisfied, pulling me a little more aside. "Where have you gone? Terribly worrying, not seeing Bassy around!"  
"I ended the contract," I replied matter-of-factly, without honouring him with a single glance.  
"Wonderful! Just guessed! Finally, this brat doesn't despise you, does he? I've been waiting longingly for this moment!" my interlocutor perked up a bit when he heard what I said earlier. "But doesn't that mean you shouldn't be here anymore?"

I was surprised that even he knew better where my place should be. It hurt me that he was absolutely right. I hung my head and shook it weakly as a lame confirmation. Even the shinigami sensed the change in my behaviour and stepped closer, trying to make eye contact, but was unsuccessful.  
"I have a business for you..." I sighed after a while, tired of dodging the piercing green eyes of the death god. "It concerns my contractor," I added, forcing myself to use more words, but even I was not satisfied with my way of specifying at the time.  
"William knows. No need to be nervous, really." he shrugged, mistaking what I wanted to say. Even if Spears were unhappy with my actions, I did not care about him at all. As I nodded no, signalling that he had misinterpreted everything, Grell hung around my neck. "So what can you mean, Sebby-chan? You know that I'm always and everywhere at your disposal."  
"I'll take you to Hell. I need you there." I replied, trying to free myself from his grip.  
"Hell? Someone like me is not allowed there!" he yelled in confusion, looking at me with a surprised expression. "Besides, we shoul-...!''  
I did not let him finish the sentence. Before he could say anything else, I tugged his wrist, effectively tearing him away from any further arguments about the demon-shinigami contacts. Due to this gesture, I was exposed to his annoying squeals, how brutal I was and that such behaviour was incredibly to his taste, but I saw no other option. This pathetic lovely bullshit made me feel sick, but somehow I overcame my disgust and brought him to a hellish castle. 

I pushed the door open and non-gently pushed Grell away from me, as he sucked on me like a leech. He did not get his balance in time and fell right on the threshold. Moments later, he put his hand theatrically to his forehead and mumbled something about his fantasies related to me, but I played deaf ears. I just desperately needed someone knowledgeable on souls. I looked at Sutcliff to get him to order.  
"Let's say I agree to some concessions. In return for a favour, of course." I said, feeling superior to the naive, infatuated shinigami. "I will specify these allowances later when you have done everything I need."  
"And I could kiss you later?" he asked and his eyes flashed.  
"You are to extract my lord's soul from me. Naturally, if that is still possible." I continued, pretending I hadn't heard his disgusting question.

With a matter-of-fact presentation of the case, I wanted to cool down the straw fervour of the red-haired god of death. Knowing him, he would have passed out happily if I had actually agreed. Although for safety reasons, it was better to be careful. I could make a horrible miscalculation, and it wasn't in my head to kiss anyone. Even more so hideous shinigami. I looked at him with pity as he, in a mild panic, processed what I had said. He asked several times if he understood my statement correctly, to which I nodded my head each time.  
"What do you need his soul for? It's dangerous!" he squeaked, adjusting his red glasses. "It could even wipe out your existence if you don't make any other pact quickly. You'll starve and I will not put my hand to it! I will not kill my beloved Bassy!"  
"You do not need to know. I just want you to take it out and put it back in the body. I get sick because of him and I want to get rid of uncomfortable symptoms. As for the next contracts, it shouldn't be on your mind. I can take care of myself" I replied a bit offended, answering truthfully.

Ciel was my disease of the mind. He was tormenting me badly beyond death, and I wanted everything back to normal. Indeed, I could always lie to an uncomfortable question, but I told the truth for so long that I guess I got used to not lying. Lying was hard so for me at that point because, after all, all this confusion was about my master. Additionally, the red god of death must have known what I expected of him. Only then did the reaper picks himself up from the floor of the hell's hall and brush off his cloak, which was the same colour as his long hair. Guest mused a bit, circling the room. He made a slight noise in the form of heels clicking on the floor. It started simply irritate me after a few strokes on the ground. In case he could not help me, I would rather not waste my time and know it immediately, and then, escorting him straight to London.  
"I haven't done anything like that yet. It may end badly, Sebby." he continued to convince me, although I could see just by his expression that he knew perfectly well that I was adamant. "Well... I could at least recommend someone else who would do it skilfully. In return for the concessions you talked about earlier, of course..." he added and chuckled, blushing slightly at the same time.


	4. Grey Rose

I rolled my eyes, hearing his words. At the same time, I mentally scolded myself for my naivety. The mere fact that I thought this worthless shinigami might be of some use proved my high level of desperation. I nodded reluctantly, waiting for his next words, which I later found out to be eminently displeasing. Grell began the topic of specific gods of death - deserters. The redhead thought that only they were able to help because they simply had nothing to lose. Only one person came to mind - the last one I would like to ask for anything. After a moment's thought, however, I began to consider this solution as better than entrusting myself to this red madman, because he admitted that he had zero experience in it. On the other hand, coming to Undertaker meant that I put myself in the hands of an even greater freak. Moreover, while Grell's behaviour was quite predictable, the white-haired man had his own misunderstood moods. After all, I decided to take a chance. My desire to see young master fully alive was too large. 

I wanted to free myself from this excruciating guilt and go back to what had passed.

Before I knew it, Grell and I were back in London, in front of the funeral home that belonged to the independent god of death. I was about to press the door handle and go inside when the redhead announced that we would be forced to separate, which was pretty fine for me. He had some work to do and did not want to get in William's way, so he washed off quickly, yelping away that he would rather spend more time with me. I sighed bored, escorting him go to the nearest intersection. When I was sure that Grell went away for good, I went inside running spooky bell, heralding the coming of a potential customer. As always, the white-haired man sat behind the desk. He quickly illustrated me, resting his head on hand. While in our earlier meetings he seemed more or less amused, this time I had the impression that he was suppressing a wild desire to scratch my eyes out. I could not see the green irises from beneath long, pale hair, but I could feel his eyes following me with a distinct disgust that showed on his face. I was extremely ashamed of the whole situation and eminently didn't want to ask him for anything, but I was kind of forced to put my pride in my pocket.  
"You killed the tiny Earl. You have no business here, Mr. Butler" he said after a long moment of silence, clearly emphasizing how he had called me. Apparently, Undertaker just wanted to make me angry, because he knew perfectly well that with the taking of my master's soul, I ceased to be a butler, which I greatly missed. "You have the nerve to show up in London" he added with a slightly nasty smile.  
"I came here just about his case. You have been recommended to me by another shinigami. He is saying that you're more... experienced" I said, pretending I hadn't heard his speech. I thought that if it went on like this, I would actually do something to my hearing because I had pretended too many times that someone else's words weren't reaching me. "I'd like you to take my master's soul out of me and put it back into his body. To open his eyes. Is it even feasible?"

The gravedigger's maniacal laugh, which almost twisted with amusement, answered me. There was no end to his chuckles as every now and then he calmed down to explode again into uncontrolled cackling. He even pushed up his long bangs, to have a good look at me and to make sure I was serious. In the end, he moved from his seat and leaned against the desk, standing back to him.  
"So you still have his body. That's why no one brought the little Earl to me. That explains it all..." he replied with considerable interest. "You even took away the pleasure of his burial. Sooo cruel, Mr. Butler!"  
"I want to undo it. If you can not help me, I will just leave" I grunted, a bit embarrassed, starting to regret that I had not given myself over to the redhead. On the other hand, I did not want to end my life that soon, taking into account all possible mistakes. "Already, just by asking you, I fell worse than all the black angels put together," I added disgustedly.  
After these words, I simply lost all hope of bringing my master back to life. I saw that the shinigami was not cooperating and I was not able to do it alone.

When I put my hand on the doorknob, something unexpected happened. The Undertaker stopped me saying that he had thought enough, then agreed to perform the appropriate manoeuvre I asked him to do. Watching his behaviour, I wondered if he really needed a moment to wonder, or if he was just teasing me, hoping to get on my nerves. Maybe I was one step away from that, but I was not going to get in his way with a possible fight. After all, our paths parted at the moment of taking the soul from a small contractor. His hand, stretched out towards me, was only a manifestation of good will. It was me who imposed myself in that situation. The reaper declared that he would come to hell the next evening because he had to take care of someone's burial soon.  
"It's easier to get a soul out of a demon than out of the real underworld," he concluded, sitting down on one of the coffins. "You can go now. I'll be there. You don't have to worry, Mr. Butler...'" he added maliciously, opening the lid of another eternal bed, showing me the same person I saw earlier in the town square. 

The young lady Elizabeth was surprisingly quickly brought to order, and if I had not seen her injuries some time ago, I would judge that she died in her sleep. With this gesture, the white-haired man probably wanted to show off his skills, or at least that is how I perceived it. Though I should not be disgusted by the sight of a dead young lady, I stepped back, remembering the contents of the glass coffin in my hellish residence. I shuddered involuntarily, which did not escape Undertaker notice. He seemed to be having a great time. When I looked closely at the fair-haired girl, I noticed a few similarities between her and the young lady's would-be fiancé. She looked just as calm, and her body was covered with clothes in black colours. The skin was also pale, but not as snow-white as the young master. Watching her silently, I feel a terrible obligation to go back to Hell. I did not want to stay in the funeral home any longer.  
"Will you keep your promise?" I tossed hesitantly, brushing a long black strand of hair from my face.


	5. Blue Rose

Even though Undertaker did not say anything specific, I noticed that he nodded. This calmed me down a little and I left the funeral home on my way home. All that was left for me then was to wait for the development of events. I felt powerless, but the feeling was not tormenting my head to a great extent. All that mattered was that I had returned to Hell because a young master was there. In a hurry, I pulled my jacket and threw it carelessly into the nearest chair. Briskly went to the room which could serve as a temporary style of my master bedroom, but when I grab the door handle, I stopped.  
"Why am I so pleased? It is just a loss for me..." I summed up under my breath. Moments later, a soft laugh reached my ears, which I heard over and over from my usual longing for the informal owner of the room. Involuntarily, a shy smile pressed onto my lips, filled with hope that I would hear his voice again, for real. Finally.

I gently pushed the door and stepped inside, wondering when I should break this flawed coffin and turn it into a real bed that would meet his needs. Imaginary pieces of glass reflected in my eyes as an omen of the future. I was just happy, looking forward to it. I knew it was a fairly serious threat to me, however, I figured I would worry about it later. I approached the eternal bed and ran my hand over the transparent lid. Through it, I could see the almost white face of my owner. Though I broke off his leash, I felt the urge to return. I fought with myself not to make any sudden movements that would break the glass. In my mind's eye, I saw huge cracks on it. Timid gesture opened the coffin to remove my cold, human cuddly. Due to his presence at home, I acted like a little child that I never was. As I saw his eyes captured by eternal sleep, a part of an angel spoke within me. I thought I had strangled it a long time ago, but that was the curse of the fallen ones. I sat the pale boy on the comfortable couch, gently stroking his equally paper cheek. I could compare it to a chunk of ice just waiting for someone to melt it. He was very fragile, so I solemnly took his head in my hands, so that I could carefully examine the drooping eyelids with unwanted whiteness behind them. I calmly stroked the pale faces with my thumbs, naively believing that this would make them blush again. I did not even notice when I moved too close and rested my forehead against his, touching our noses. I was taking the last joy of that the young master could not scold me for small prizes for services that I valued myself and insolently took. The soul turned out to be an uncomfortable loan, which I wanted to get rid of almost immediately, paying extra with a bit of myself. On impulse, I pressed our lips together, confessing him a platonic love that I should forget when the blues and roses banish all the snow from him. 

With every moment I took it a step further, shifting from blue, cold lips to paper cheeks. After a while, I left the face and stuck to his pale neck. I only stopped when I started to realize that I should have done it, otherwise, it could have had tragic consequences. I had a sinful intention to unbutton his shirt but ended up slamming charcoal black buttons. I wanted to give him everything I could not offer earlier. On the other hand, I was aware of his vulnerability. I could not hurt him, especially since he was not obliged to give himself to me. The subject of the contract was only the soul, not the body, and I had to accept it. The angelic part demanded acceptance, while the demonic whole told itself that it would not care about rejection.  
"It is high time to go to bed, young master," I said softly, stepping away from him to get my nightgown from the closet. I went to the wooden door and opened it, accidentally looking at the clock. I hung it again. Some time ago. Exactly at this time of my master usually indulged in the arms of Morpheus. Even though the hellish night was immeasurable, I started counting again. This time, driven by a stupid hope, to the next sight of the hated shinigami.

Preoccupied with my thoughts, I have not realized that I had made a human error. I made a mistake and instead of wearing the master in his nightgown, I gave him mine, mainly because of the same colour and the fact that I put our clothes on common shelves. I sighed softly with helplessness, rolling up too long sleeves, not wanting to play dress-up again. My gaze took him, and in one moment I stopped regretting a minor mistake. He looked extremely pure. I smiled to myself as I adjusted the large, comfortable pillow. I found my clothes very suitable to him, recalling the amusing incident involving the murders at the master's mansion. At that time, I did not think that I would miss such moments. With a sloppy scene in front of my own eyes, I put him to sleep in a natural position and then, I lit a candlestick, thus illuminating the darkness of eternal night in the depths of hell. I always tried to bear in mind that the small contractor did not like to fall asleep in the dark and alone. I was lighter with the fact that he could count on me even after his death, and I was diligently fulfilling my duties. 

The demons were not used to sleep. Usually, it resulted from the goodwill of someone who made a pact. I felt tired many times, but at that moment I was even more tired. More than ever before. There was one truth - I needed another contract that would reconnect two beings drawing energy from each other. Sadly, the situation was unfavourable. Being hungry, I wanted to return the entire previous meal, pretending to be picky, although I could not imagine anything more filling and tasty. 

Unclean beings like me have been exposed to many temptations. We broke all the commandments, resisting morals, living according to our cardinal sins. Immoderate in eating, inflamed with lust and greedy. This is just a few of the many suitable terms that I finally started to worry about. While I did not want to change my habits, feeling comfortable with myself, I rejected the honesty that flowed from the fair performance of our contract. I fell into the depths of grief, despair, compassion, longing, and suffering faithfulness to the grave and beyond. For the first time, I felt what faith and hope were inside me. I also felt something else, but I was not able to name it. The missing piece of the immortal hymn, expressing everything that could be in the tongues of men and of angels. I felt I was starting to freak out. This state contradicted everything I had known so far and amassed my irritation, making the seemingly human eyelids droop to comfort me.


	6. Yellow Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm sorry to keep you guys so long in suspense. Here's a new chapter, I hope you'll forgive me. My private life isn't going very well, so next updates will be completely unorganized.

The long rest was not meant for me because, concerning the time zone in the human world, I closed my eyes for about half an hour. Then I heard a knock. After a few minutes - banging on the door. While still half asleep, I got up from the bed, adjusting the flowery blanket over my porcelain ideal. I went downstairs wondering who would dare to disturb me in my own home. If it were some other demon, I probably wouldn't have avoided the tormenting interrogation... 

After all, I opened the door. As slow as possible. Behind them, I saw a white-haired shinigami. The deserter did not even greet. He stepped inside, pulling out some little black barrette and with the help of it he tames the too-long fringe, revealing green eyes, glowing in the dark like two fireflies dancing together.  
"Take me to the Little Earl," he said, presenting me his scythe of death, which I had the pleasure of meeting before. Definitely too close. I had a strange feeling that the miniature skeleton was again eager to taste my interior, so I kept a distance between us.  
I suggested that the white-haired man should stay in the corridor. After all, Young Master was in my bed, which would have given an ambiguous response. The man, however, playing with his scythe and waving it in all directions, categorically forbade me to leave him all alone even for a moment, citing my position as host. I knew that I should have been careful and humble when I was dealing with him, so I decided that somehow I would avoid uncomfortable questions and led him to my bedroom. I could not stand the another minutes without my contractor. I did not want to extend everything further. 

I pushed the black mahogany door, revealing to Undertaker all my weaknesses, converging into one small person, resting his head on a comfy goose-feather pillow. Lifeless.  
"You know what to do, right?" I asked hesitantly, moving closer to the bed. I was sufficiently humiliated for taking The Undertaker to my bedroom, so I did not want to reveal Young Master from the duvet to show the shinigami that I had dressed him in my shirt. "Do you have experience with this?"  
"Of course not," he replied, amused, tearing the blanket and quilt off the dead master. He burst out laughing immediately, which made me want to curl up and escape to the deepest, hellish abysses. "No demon was mindless enough to voluntarily give back his meals."  
His words confused me completely. The worst part was that he was telling the truth. I was a rarity that could not live without an annoying human kid, and I missed him furiously. My pride cried with bloody tears of deep disgrace. I fell worse than everyone else, and yet I was still ready for more falls, without even getting up from the ground. Only to see the blue of his eyes once more, in which I could drown as in deep crystal lakes and perish with painted satisfaction on my lips. I was insane with an irrational longing.

The laughing command from Undertaker broke my thoughts. He ordered me to carry the lord to the basement, although in the case of my castle, the lower floor should be precisely called the dungeons. I obediently took it in my arms, feeling the almost negligible, charming weight that I liked so much, then I took the lead, putting on a cold and indifferent expression. I did not feel comfortable. With each passing meter of long, gloomy corridors, fear for my cinematic record grew in me more and more. The god of death could not see this again. At one point, I moved aside so that the white-haired man opened the rusty gate leading to the dungeons. The visitor roughly tugged the lock, and the iron made an unbearable grinding noise. All cells in the hellish private prison of the castle were empty. At one point, Undertaker bypassed me and went first. He gave the impression that he knew where to go. With his hand outstretched, he hooked each bar, giving metal reverberation with long black nails. Finally, we got to a great hall with a large stone table in the centre of it. Similar to the one I found Ciel on. It was a kind of room between worlds, serving as a room for signing death sentences on contractors in exchange for fulfilling their desires. Closer known pacts. There were pentagrams on the walls. It would have been impossible to see them if Undertaker hadn't picked up a solitary candle from my bedroom. There were still white feathers on the floor. They belonged to Ciel.

Each person has something of an angel in. When they make contracts, they fall. In a different sense to the demons, but what they had in common was that both shed their white feathers. I donned black a long time ago, about two thousand years ago, condemning my person to damnation. The boy's wings had been cut off. I remembered this event so well that it seemed to me that I had contracted him the day before. He was degraded to the limit, brazenly tempting with pride, courage and the proud soul that I had to give back. But I did not regret it. The Undertaker circled us, lighting all tall candlesticks, lighting wicks by the candle he had been carrying earlier. At the same time, he was pushing away piles of feathers with his legs to reveal the largest pentagram in the room on the floor. The sound of his high heels wafted across the stone floor.

"Put him down," he said behind me while I stood in the middle of the Faustian star. I quickly fulfil the order, and by covering Young Master with a red satin cloth, I completed the gesture what he 'asked' me for. A moment later I heard him again behind me. This time I was supposed to kneel in front of my former contractor. I did it with great pleasure, letting my feelings come alive again. I felt just like before. Like simply one hell of a butler. I felt affiliation, which I needed. Growing curiosity and hope heightened the impression in me that my master was reviving with every gesture of my devotion. The distorted perception of the world explained the Undertaker commands to me in the voice of Young Master.   
"Yes, My Lord," I said softly, lowering my head in mourning as I had done before taking his soul. Everything overlapped in the similarities to create another end. A new, possibly happy ending for two sinners, in which I would finally find peace by his side. For eternity.   
"Lower, Mr. Butler" whispered white-haired tartly and, grinning in an ominous smile, gave me a rough kick in the back. Since I was not prepared for it, I staggered and grabbed the stone table to stay on my knees. "That's what I meant," he added wildly, and a moment later I heard a hollow whistle behind me. Then excruciating pain shot through me.


	7. Green Rose

I knew that sooner or later he would sink his scythe of death into me again. Apparently then that time had come. If he could not find another way, I dared not have any grudge against him. I just took a breath to stifle a scream. I spat out blood, decorating the remaining feathers with red liquid. The heart, like human ones, sped up, suggesting that it was so ready to jump out of its chest, tearing out the bones in the mentioned process. I only managed to grasp the master's hand, seeing the black spots before my eyes. However, I did not lose consciousness. My breathing was irregular and heavy, but I was still fully conscious despite the irritating dizziness. The blood stained all my clothes, dripping on the floor not in drops, but in streams poured onto the floor. I staggered once more. Struggling with the weakness, I suddenly felt at the same time a gentle grip on my palm from a pale little hand. I did not ask for relief or an interruption of it all. The soul was returning to its unwritten place, and the Undertaker, after all this mess, rested his leg against my back, pulling the scythe out of me. He treated me as some stubborn door in which an axe landed between the wooden boards. 

Due to being a demon, I was not in danger of bleeding out. That's probably why the white-haired man didn't pay too much attention to me. He wiped the scythe dispassionately with his black cloak, and then took the lord in his arms, pulling him away from me. This gesture disturbed me so much that I immediately moved towards him and my eyes flashed. However, I was unable to straighten up. I howled like a shot wolf- not by one bullet, but by several.  
"The little earl must rest, and he won't do it on a cold surface," he said, looking down at me. "Look, he's alive. You should be thankful," he added in admiration, showing me the boy's rising chest. He was breathing. Even greedily sucking air into his lungs.  
"I'm grateful," I muttered vaguely, wiping the blood from the corners of my mouth. At the same time, I followed the god of death with my eyes. The shinigami extinguished each candle in turn, and the room was slowly plunging into darkness. "Take him to the bedroom. I'll be there in a moment," I gasped as I stepped out of the infernal circle.

I found a convenient place by the cold brick wall of the castle. I was so wasted I didn't even care if Undertaker would take the opportunity to do a search worthy of a Scotland Yard. I had to take a moment to regenerate my injured body a bit. It tried to chase the white-haired man, who had recently disappeared in a dark corridor with my master, but was simply too tired. Even a scenario in which shinigami could take him away from me ran through my mind. The funeral home director had weakened me so much that he had the opportunity to do whatever he wanted. I wouldn't be able to object. On the other hand, even if he would disappear with a contractor, I would be comforted by the knowledge that Ciel is alive and well. Reluctantly, I rose from the ground, placing my hand over the still bleeding wound. The red liquid wasn't flowing out of it as madly as before, but it still stained my fingers. I held on to the wall and, limping a little, made my way slowly to my bedroom. 

There was no one in it. It was completely empty. This view raised my blood pressure. I widened my eyes in panic, although I had previously declared that such a scenario would not have made any impression on me. I looked around the room again as if I didn't realize no one was there.  
"Young master?" I called weakly, grabbing a squat wooden chest of drawers. "Ciel!"  
"You're calling nicely," Undertaker chuckled through the ajar door of my special room. "You are jealous of him, aren't you?"  
I immediately approached the entrance and threw the door wide open. Undertaker sat on the window sill, the everlasting red moon illuminating his face, emphasizing the somewhat scary expression on his face. He was holding one of the white roses in his hand, which I always tied in bouquets and placed in vases next to glass coffin. Apparently, his sense of aesthetics was not as sensitive as mine, because he was tearing petals from an innocent plant with impunity. They fell to the floor, merging with the pale tiles. But I figured that in return for what he had done, he could have stripped off all the flowers. The most important element of the decor was living and that was all that mattered to me. Somewhat calmed down, I walked over to the coffin, the lid of which was somewhere in the corner of the room. The young master regained his old, delicate blushes on his cheeks and he was apparently sleeping soundly. Unable to believe it, I took my watch out of my pocket and pressed the glass to his mouth - instantly fogged up. I perceived it as a mist from which my master would emerge. I just waited for him to open his eyes and say one word. But I knew that he probably needed rest more than I did. While demons recuperate fairly quickly, humans do not necessarily. Only time healed the wounds. I pushed the chair closer to the coffin, unable to stand any longer. I was hungry, shattered, and therefore weak and almost faint. I sat down next to the young master and leaned against the glass frame, while my eyes closed almost by themselves. The sight of him gave me strength.  
"It's close to noon in London. I should go back" the white-haired man said, getting up from the windowsill. "It's not time to bury him yet, is it?"  
"I won't allow it while I'm here," I growled at another provocation from him.


End file.
